~William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene 1

how many, how much of
life has dissolved while you,
in your Place of Honour, kept
silent, she asked.

Wall said nothing.

is this… no, T H I S, she
pointed, is this the first
moon, the blue one,
the one i told you
Not to Miss.  or is it the
other – the yellow – no – the
tansy one, the tansy one with
its amber faults that will not
rise again for lifetimes upon
lifetimes upon lifetimes.

Still Wall was silent.

she flipped a page
now this one i
Know, this one i
Named.  i named it
before you even
considered Names,
before there was ever
any… … …
what comes before
dreams?

Before dreams there is colour,
Wall spoke.
Primarily Primary Colour.

oh,
she said,
yes, i can see that,
she said.
for there was no
red,
she said.
there was no
green,
she said.
there was no
blue,
she said.
before You.
she said.

Now you are grown Maudlin,
whispered Wall with a flake.
Unworthy, Unbecoming.

Yes, she said.  Well – not
that this is an excuse — but
Maudlin
does come from living
with, surrounded and upheld
by, the Alice Blue marble of your
cold, straight back;
does come from languishing
in,  engulfed and entombed
by, the Blanched Almond Bisque of your
unyielding, flint arms.  from living in
arches and holes, branches and water,  with
snake-railed deer and Bradbury mushrooms,
Orange
with never a shelter of
Grey.

Wall said nothing.

do you remember, she asked
after a moment.   do you remember
when first you saw me?

No, answered Wall without
pause.  I do not remember.
I do not remember, because there was
never
Time
without you in it.

Oh my, she laughed.  sometimes i
forget,  if you can imagine, just how
clever you are.

Wall cracked quietly near the roof.

Well,
she said.
i remember.
i was Black and White.
always.
Noir et Blanc.
toujours.
but i knew enough of
Colour
to be afraid, to be truly
afraid, of your mirrored
gaze.  the one that went
through me, all the way to
Summer.

Warnings were posted, reminded Wall.

yes, she said, pointing.  there first, then
there, and finally There – the Brilliant
Pink one with the Brick Red teeth.

You chose to ignore them, reminded Wall.

and you chose to let me, she nodded.

Wall said nothing, though his chink
quivered
a bit.

there was a long pause
then she said,
do you know, that when you
enter, if you enter, a maze,
you should keep your
left hand on the
left wall, on the
Left wall without
ever letting go.
if you do that, you will,
eventually, come to safety.
but only
if
you never let go

of Me, Wall said.

yes, she sighed.
of you.
which is all green and
good.  if you enjoy a
maze.

Wall was silent.  As only
a Mechanical can be.

she turned another
page.  Never let them
say, she said.  Never
let them say there is no
colour in Hell.  Never let
them say, she said.  There is
only Red.  Never let them say,
she said.  There is only heat.
No.
There is Cold in Hell.
Cold.
There is Cold in Hell.
and it is
Full
of colour.

Wall began to weep, water
seeping from his corners.

all our life, she said,
You have been tired.

and selfish

and determined to
save, determined to
care for, everyone;
everyone
everyone
Everyone
but me.

Not true! cried Wall.
Not true, not true, not true…

she blew her nose.
oh well, she said, turning
back from Wall.  there
is also no
Truth
within the walls of
Hell; within the beautiful
Harlequin walls of
Hell

is there…?

©s rogers 15 january 2012

in all those years,
when i was trying to be
A Good Wife, when all the
future existed with him
and without Him, lying
enshrouded, clouded like
green sugar splayed over a
spoon;

in all those years,
when i held only to the
kind words of thieves
in the night, when the
silver of my youth failed to
stand well in the light of
age, in the faceless
names of babies
lost;

before them
before that
before you
refused to answer
the unanswerable,
was i the Cat
Cat on the rooftop
Cat in the moonlight
forgotten

i remember
the press of your
finger;
its back against my
arm, up and down and
up and up while all the
others looked on; the
tremulous touch of
uncertainty, as that
surreptitious finger failed
to claim what was already
owned.

we never know for
certain the marks we
leave; will they last past
morning, will the secrets
that we carry fade, so that
not even the men who
know us well enough to
order, will recognize
them, will recognize
us.

so have i come back,
in the end, to the
ruin  of my childhood,
to the places i was known
before, when all was still
vanity, and the end
was still only the
beginning;

when who i thought
i was, was who i wanted
to be, whenever, if ever
i grew up.

© srogers 7^th january 2012

your love must
belay
the pitch as we near the
bar
else we are
Banished

between wind and water

©s rogers 5 december 2011

an end-life
 surprise
 from a
 song-less
              child

so now
there are
evenings,
long, dark
evenings,
when i sit
down the dusty
hallway and
sing

for her
         just
for her

a private concert
neither applauded
nor acknowledged

evenings,
when a voice
still new to her
                    drifts
down the darkened
hallway to
              mix
with Memory

(suppers cooking)
(Tiparellos burning)
(children crying)

beyond
          just
beyond

the Interlude-
laced blind of
night,
lashing us with
a softer
          chain

©srogers 25 november 2011

a rise of earth
raised, round
circular

a fall of silk
scraped, raw
circumferent

and

below

The Mosh

dirt floor filled
carpenters, mechanics
butcher and cart drivers
Bowery Boys
all, dressed

beyond

the nines

stove pipe hats
(brushed thin beaver)
over greased hair
(reverse Mullet)
reflect the sulphurous
stage light, while high-
heeled boots stand
strong straight
legs

bound

fast
in tight black cloth,
their only colour the
Red
of shirts they can
not
afford

and

above

The Circle

satin-lined

boxes

entomb the elite
Irving and Jackson
Adams and Tyler
Luminaries
all, weighed

down

with wives

silk legs of mutton
(opalesce and brocade)
translucent shoulders
(diamonds and pearls)
glitter in shadows

un

moving

the Antebellum
lower
east side of a
city
not quite
but almost

all together

Await

the arrival of
The Star

his grotesqueries
(drink, madness)
forgotten
(if not forgiven)
by the carmine

gloss
of his glistening lips
by the hare’s foot
dust
of his powdered face
by the resounding

roar

of his Richard
never to be

heard

again
©s rogers, 14 november 2011, all rights reserved

sent in the morning by someone loved
read in the fog of an eternal winter
drawn in the fireless wind whose breath
smoulders
still

… looked up to.  Remember…

down ecru lines masquerading as hallways
behind vivid cold blocks of non-microbial tile
hang crosses and stars of service and valour
and
death

…you may even…

beyond double-catch doors of bullet-proof glass
in a bed too short for even his shrivelled frame
beneath the weight of wounds long forgotten
he
lies

…be adored.

his generation drifting silently away
cloaked in words almost as forfeit
Gallantry, Heroism, Fidelity, Merit
Honour
Duty

Remember, you are looked up to.
You may even be adored.

no, no, no, not i
not i, not i, but
yes, yes, yes,
He
He and He and He and
She
All

 … adored.

©srogers 8 march 2011

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““`

“It’s life, you know?  Just… Life…”            

i could tell it was something he’d
said
many more times than
once

the shrug of his shoulders,
secret and shy
not quite a man’s
tired
resignation

the tilt of his head,
out and up
not quite a boy’s
shameless
curiosity         

“I mean, it happens… It happened… Shit happens… doesn’t it?

it does, yes
indeed
yes, it does

and what else is
it
what else could
it
be but
shit         

when, at seventeen
your father,
your Father,
disintegrates
dissolved and diseased
beyond anyone’s
hope
and you, you are
suddenly You
alone
sequestered and separated
by more than
merely
Red Hair,
that red, red, red hair
which is, you discover,
Father’s
only
bequest

“So, I did some drugs… took some shit…a lot of shit, I guess…  I mean, I had never done that, you know?  I’d never been like that… I was always, well, “The Leader”… always the one they looked up to and shit…  Then all of a sudden I wasn’t… I wasn’t at all… but I didn’t care… I mean, I just didn’t give a damn, you know?”

i know, yes
indeed
yes, i know

his milky hands,
his quick-bitten nails,
clung one to the other
wringing the freckles,
refusing to relinquish
their determined
their frightened
hold
on whatever
remained

“Ok, yeah… I can come back… Yeah, maybe it’ll do some good… I don’t know… maybe it won’t… doesn’t matter really, I guess … I mean it’s not like I’ve gotta lotta better shit to do…”        

the jerky laugh
pulled
him upright
and
sixty-three inches of

Please. (maybe) Hug me.
Please. (kind of) Hold me.

stood slowly,  but never
reached its full height,
instead
it curled in upon us both,
flattened
to a handshake
to a headshake
and
walked
silently
out  the door

©s rogers, 27th october 2011, all rights reserved